1 year ago: Wake up, go to work, go to bed, drink.
1 month ago: Wake up, go to work, go to bed, drink.
1 week ago: Wake up, go to work, quit my job, drink.
2 weeks ago I won the lottery. Not really, but not not really. I woke up in a bed with a girl named Doe and I lost my mind. I woke up and was inherited with the best piece of information I had ever received: Never settle. Never settle, and stay hungry and foolish.
I had been settling for years then I realized I needed to change my ways. I had not been hungry or foolish, well maybe foolish, but not really hungry. I needed to go.
It just so happened that that morning it was beautiful out. I could see through the slits in my blinds the blue sky and sun hitting off of the red-brick building adjacent my complex. It just so happened that that was the day that Steve Jobs died.
I had had no shortage of excitement in my life at that moment; failed relationships, empty alcohol containers scattered about my room, Occupying government plaza’s stand-in, meeting new people, protesting, drinking coffee with the occasional cigarette, and jerking off. I had had no shortage of entertainment. However, there was one thing in my life that I had not thought about changing until I woke up and turned on the television to find that the creator of one of the most influential companies in the world had passed away.
His face, and weird bald head, was on the screen and he was telling me personally to never settle, always stay hungry and foolish. He was speaking to me through the t.v. at a commencement speech at Harvard, or Yale, or some school I would never grace with my presence. I thought about it for a bit. I took it personally. I thought about his message. I thought to myself, am I missing out on something? Do I like where I am? I thought some more, and I came to the conclusion that I had to leave my place of employment. I needed to quit my job.
I pondered for weeks about what I would do if I ran out of money. I saw myself in a graveyard with a shovel and a flashlight, malnourished and dirty, getting caught by the cops. I would tell them the economy made me do it. THE HORRIBLE ECONOMY TURNED ME INTO A GODDAMN GRAVE ROBBER!!! I would scream it. Corpse and casket in plain sight for all to see. No jewelry and no possessions on the decomposed occupant, whom also had succumbed to poor economic standings. On this dig I would find no buried treasure, only a cold jail cell awaited. I thought that maybe this would be a last-stitch effort type job, grave robbing that is. I probably wouldn’t become that desperate. I realized I could eventually become a prostitute or maybe a drug-runner, but those were petty occupations for unmotivated individuals like Mickey Avalon, or Anna Nicole Smith. I have a brain, so I must use it. Then I realized I could live off of my writing.
After this, I immediately put my 2 weeks notice in.
The very next day I received a call from a publisher and they told me they were giving me $300,000 as compensation for the rights to my blog, which I agreed to, and $500,000 for my first book. The money was in my account the next day. I did nothing. I hadn’t spent a dime. I sat and wondered if this was going to change my life or if it would stay the same. I hoped for the latter.
Every time I open my bank account now I can hardly believe my eyes. I am surprised that it doesn’t change much that the numbers which were in the negative are in the positive. It really doesn’t change you as a person. I still hardly drive and I don’t buy expensive beer often. I no longer need to work and I will still attend the church dinners on monday where I get free damaged produce and expired bread. I need sustenance to live. The only thing this does change is I can no longer go to the Occupy Wallstreet without feeling bad. They know I am an imposter, they can smell my money. My chant is weaker and I am obvious, so I just walk home to count the coins. It is a pretty sad life at the top. I mean it is the loneliest place on earth. When you are on top you can look down at people, but they become offended and by that time your friends truly avoid you. Its been weeks since I have talked to some of my closest friends.
I had nothing to say the day I quit my job, but I told them I enjoyed working for The *****, nothing personal. I also had nothing to say because I learned a couple days earlier that my words and what I do could effect people, and my fiscal intake, or outtake. After you have that many hits you wonder what people really think of you as a writer. It makes you wonder if people are looking to find you because of something you said or wrote, something that they might disagree with. I look over my shoulder as I write.
I found out right away. I had just finished with my new job when I received a phone call. Professional legal help was sought, apparently, over a recent blog post of mine. That very same day I had the most hits on my blog ever, 153,039,301 hits in 3 hours. I took the post down and that is when even more hits started coming in. I thought this is the time to become famous, make some more money off of my work. What I have just written is amazing and I must save it, however, I copied the post and I forgot to paste it into Word. I blacked out after a few well mixed drinks and woke up the next day. I realized in the foggy morning haze that I forgotten to paste my post into Word. I jumped out of bed as the naked girl next to me asked me to stop freaking out. I went over to my computer, cursing at myself, and punched in the password, then straight to MS Word to press command v into my account. The only thing that showed up was https://dirtyterry.wordpress.com/. I truly am a marketing student, a master of sales and promotion, but a complete fucking idiot when it came to remembering to save things in Word. So the post is lost and I must move on. Someone wins, but we won’t know who.
I donated the money from the blog and the book to charity and some of it to a bum on the street corner over on Lasalle. I really hated giving out money to bums before when I was broke, but at this point I didn’t care. I gave him my last hundred and started home. I wanted nothing to do with it. Money changed me a bit, but love changed me more.
I gave up.
I tore my passion down, the only thing I really cared about that I had created, and I had to start from scratch. I became paranoid and bedridden. I shook at the sound of doors being unlocked. I had no idea who was there anymore.
A week out from being jobless and never settling, I am doing fine. My bank account remains the same, drinks still flow, and I am relatively unconcerned as to what happens. I have weekends off indefinitely and I can take in the sun anytime of day, any day.
However, I feel at times having more freedom restricts a person. I feel this way because having more options causes one to weigh the odds of each, which causes mass confusion and hesitation. More time in the day, more freedom to do things. At times, I feel more liberated when I am told my options and when I have to do them. I am not settling. I am enjoying it as it comes. Taking nothing for granted and loving every moment. I have exhausted my run of psychotic dialogue from fictitious people who are essentially negative misers. One gets what ones gives. I have given up, so I hope I get it. Get it? I go crazy because I give people examples of crazy in a way people can hardly handle.
Security guards have been following me at school and apparently I am terrorizing individuals. I have been called an emotional terrorist, but I never try and I never wanted to be. I just wanted to be a mirror to anyone I communicate with. I will show those what they treat people like and treat them like that in return. But most of the stuff I write isn’t real, some have said it is hard to differentiate fact from fiction. I guess, don’t believe everything you hear, or read for that matter. It could be ink on a page, crumpled and thrown away, it could be a death sentence handed down from judge and jury. All or nothing, that’s life.
When one takes things out of context that is when the truth can be bent into anything, and where people get put in harms way. I am choosing to walk away. I don’t want to be harmed or harm anyone. I care about being civil and real. I am walking from job, from friend, from lover, from fortune, to find something hopefully better and more positive.
So, to all,
I will not walk away from fiction, but I will walk away from fake.